


Hearts We Leave Behind

by Fuguestate



Category: The Shape of Water (2017)
Genre: Gen, Post-Movie, Slice of Life, Spoilers, fix-it (sort of), providing closure, taking dictation from the characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-03-16 14:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13637781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuguestate/pseuds/Fuguestate
Summary: “To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.”― Thomas Campbell





	1. Chapter 1

Giles watches the creature jump from the dock with Elisa's body and staggers toward the edge. He's dimly aware that Zelda is there somehow, that her voice is in his ears and she's asking, telling him something, something not important right now because she doesn't know, she didn't see, and there's no time to explain to her - he can barely concentrate at all for the ringing pain in his head from that madman hitting him, but he has to _know_.

The water is so dark, and the rain shatters its surface into endless ripples and wavelets that bounce the city lights back into his eyes. There has to be… the creature wouldn't just –

There!

Beneath the sharp, frenetic reflections on the water's surface, Giles thinks he sees a softer glow of azure blue. He fears his own wishful thinking, fears a trick of the police lights behind him, but…

"Do you see it?" he hisses, his hand fumbling up, reaching over to glance off Zelda's arm as he keeps looking, keeps _hoping_.

"See what?" Zelda's eyes are wide in panic as she alternates between tending to Giles and tracking the MPs who have reached Strickland's body behind them.

"The blue –" he gestures furtively to the water, "there, look! Tell me you see it?"

Zelda peers as best she can, placing her body obliquely as she makes herself appear to check on Giles' condition. She's not sure where to look, and still shaken from walking past Strickland's blood-soaked corpse; the water is so dark, and the creeping fear of falling over into that darkness is getting to her, but then there it is – just for a moment, a glow beneath the surface that has nothing to do with the flashing chaos of police cars and searchlight beams swinging around them. It's soft, and steady; beautiful daylight blue that dances gently beneath the surface. 

"Yes. Yes, I see it," she murmurs to him, watching police begin to make their way toward them. She thinks maybe - _maybe_ \- the glow in the water moves slowly away from the dock and toward the ocean. She hopes it does, anyway. "What does it mean?"

"She's with him. They're together." Giles smiles weakly, holding his head where it's bleeding. He watches, his tears blending in with all the rain still pouring down, as the ever-fainter glow finally disappears. He feels Zelda's touch at his elbow and reluctantly turns from the water toward her and oh, he shouldn't have done that – the ground seems to shift under him and he very nearly goes into the canal. Only Zelda's quick thinking and her iron grip on his coat keep him upright, and he lets himself be led a few steps back from the ledge.

Zelda stumbles a bit with Giles' weight. "They're _what_?" she hisses, looking again at the water. Oh God, is he telling her Elisa is dead? But no – she doesn't feel that kind of loss from him, despite his obvious sadness. Giles begins a furtive attempt to explain, but there's no time - she looks up to see Mr. Fleming striding toward them. Even walking full-tilt like the devil himself is behind him, she notices he's just fussy enough to keep the giant umbrella he's holding perfectly upright; it's just the sort of thing that Zelda would have enjoyed laughing with Elisa about, and she has to swallow the lump that tries to lodge in her throat at that thought. Then a man steps from behind Fleming and the sadness gives way to paralyzing fear when she recognizes General Hoyt, dear Lord. 

"Zelda!" Fleming is out of breath, his eyes darting everywhere at once as he gapes. Not for the first time, Zelda wonders how someone so transparent could have led Occam's security for so long. "What – what _happened_?" 

Poor Mr. Fleming… she can almost feel sorry for him, with how earnestly he's tried to go by the book (as though there _was_ some sort of rule-book for the things that have happened). Not a bad man, really, but so _blind_ , just like so many of them… She's gathering herself to answer, to at least tell him again how Colonel Strickland barged into her home, threatened to kill her and Brewster right then and there, breathing his fever and rot right into her face the whole time – but the general's voice stops her cold.

"Nothing." The word snaps out, freezing her breath in her throat and cutting short Fleming's confused babbling.

Giles startles to attention at the steel in that voice, and registers with a hazy sort of terror the amount of brass glinting on the uniform in front of them. The man wearing that uniform turns, almost leisurely in the silence he's commanded, and lets his eyes wander across to Strickland's body – now on a stretcher and covered with a sheet – to the men peering futilely into the water with flashlights, then over to Giles' van with its bullet holes in the back windows. (Giles notes with slightly hysterical relief that the rain has destroyed most of his laundry delivery paint job, leaving behind a few vague streaks that could just be a trick of the light. _She said it would rain_ , he remembers – it was over a week ago, and Elisa had been so uncannily certain of something so unpredictable. He'd put it down to her almost endless optimism and determination, but now he wonders.) 

The general's gaze returns to rake over Fleming, who wilts beneath it, and then pins Zelda and Giles in place. "Nothing happened here," he repeats, and his voice carries the weight of the sentencing it is. "You will return home. You will speak to no one. And in the morning," he includes Fleming in the command, "we will discuss your return to a normal, _quiet_ , uneventful life." He spares them all one more critical glance, then turns as though to walk away.

"But—" Fleming is looking around them in confusion, settling on Zelda, "You said, on the phone – where's Elisa?"

The question cuts through Giles' daze and he makes a sound that might be tears, might be laughter at all the possible answers that spring to his mind. "She's gone," is all he can manage. The words choke him terribly, even as he wants to laugh at this ridiculous man and all these people who could very likely make him disappear forever, and may very well do just that. Elisa is his dearest friend ( _is_ , his mind insists, not _was_ ), the one person in all the world who's made his existence something more than just going through the motions these past several years. She's been a bright spot in his universe, and helped him become more true to himself than he ever thought he could be. She's nothing short of miraculous, and he was only just beginning to see just how much, and now, now that he finally feels like the ground is more solid beneath him, now that bright spot is gone. A wild corner of his brain wants to turn, run to the canal and jump in; they can't be far, they only just escaped, he could try, he wants so badly to…

He feels Zelda put gentle hands around his shoulders and gasps a huge, shuddering breath, like he was remembering how. Looking up, he sees his grief mirrored in her eyes and suddenly remembers – Zelda doesn't know, not like he does. His pain is a selfish one, but at least he has that hope from what little time the creature was with them. She doesn't have that, and guilt quickly burns into him. Instinctively he places one hand over hers, wishing he could say more.

Zelda can see the spark of urgency in Giles' gaze, but she's also very aware of General Hoyt scowling at the interruption of his pronouncement. He's turning to leave again, and Zelda thinks she's not sure if it would be worse to have Brewster waiting for her at home, or to return to an empty house, but she very suddenly does not want to go there either way.

"Sir," she says, calling the general back. "Sir, this man is hurt."

Amazingly, her voice is strong enough to make him pause. Fleming looks like he's just swallowed a live frog, he's so flustered at Zelda's insolence, but General Hoyt's expression only betrays a vague irritation. He looks over to Giles, squinting slightly at the slow seep of blood running into Giles' beard. Zelda's instincts scream at her to shut up, to just disappear under the general's sharp look, and she has to force herself to meet his eyes, but even in this darkness she can see one hell of a goose egg forming near Giles' temple. Elisa always spoke of how dear a friend Giles was, and how lonely they'd each have been without each other; the least Zelda can do at this point is try to watch out for him, like Elisa no doubt would have done. "Please, sir. Let me stay with him; he's been hit on the head." _By your man_ , she doesn't say, _by that man who would have murdered all of us with a song in his heart._ She tries very, very hard not to let that thought show in her face.

Giles is no idiot; he keeps his eyes downcast and carefully tests the injured side of his head with cautious fingers. The sharp lash of pain that results brings forth a very real hiss of distress, and he doesn't bother controlling the unsteady sway of his posture in reaction. He really shouldn't be left alone, truth be told, and he dreads being put into these people's care. 

Mercifully, the general relents – or he prefers the convenience of having only one place to have his people watching; Zelda really couldn't care less. "Fine. We'll be sending a doctor in the morning. Call us if you need anything before then." He emphasizes _us_ ever so slightly, and his flinty glare could never be mistaken for concern. 

"Thank you, sir." Zelda suddenly feels out of breath, and she hopes like hell that Giles is well enough to drive, now that something like refuge is in sight. 

They leave under the wary gaze of the MPs, Zelda carefully guiding Giles into the driver's seat before practically sprinting to the passenger side in the downpour. As Giles brings the van around, the last thing she sees as they pull away is Fleming, briefly illuminated in their headlights, still holding his umbrella perfectly straight and still looking completely lost. 


	2. Chapter 2

They make it back to Giles' apartment without incident, though Giles finds himself suspecting every pair of headlights he sees in the rear-view mirror. It feels like there are more stairs than there had been before, he's so exhausted, and the movie dialogue seeping through the floor from the theater below seems louder than usual. It's so strange to think that Mr. Arzoumanian is still just running movies like always, with the few people watching them like nothing completely insane just occurred. There are still small puddles of water on the floor from their frantic departure – was it really so short a time ago? He looks down at their own water trail blending into them now, and feels another pang for Elisa and the incredible, impossible being who just might be some kind of god. He stops suddenly as he sees one clawed footprint remaining in a wet outline just in front of them. He doesn't want to obliterate the mark; however small it is, it's proof, right there, that all of this happened. Giles reflects for a moment that if he could, he would burn it into the floorboards just to tell the world _he was here_ \- generals and madmen be damned. Instead he guides them carefully around it, and rounds the final corner to their hallway.

Elisa's door hangs open, and they give twin cries of distress at the chaos they can see as they get closer. Furniture lies toppled on the floor amidst broken dishes and scattered belongings, and things have obviously been thrown from the kitchenette. There are still pots on the floor from the rain leaking in, but many have been kicked over, splashing their contents everywhere. They step in slowly, picking their way through as though fearful of making noise or calling attention to themselves. Aside from the kitchen, the rest of the apartment thankfully seems all right.

Giles watches, dazed, as Zelda slowly picks a pan up from the floor. "He was right behind us." He thinks of the time it took them to help the creature down the hall, down the winding stairs to the loading dock behind the building; he drove as fast as he could, so aware of the minutes ticking away and their pursuer who was out there _somewhere_. They'd only had a few moments at the docks – hardly any time at all for Elisa and her (lover? mate?) to each break their hearts before that _monster_ was right there… they'd just barely been ahead of him the whole time and Giles is only beginning to absorb that thought. He sinks slowly into the dining chair that's still upright. 

Zelda looks over at him, reminded of his injury. Quickly she checks Elisa's icebox and finds a few cubes still in the tray. There's a towel nearby, so she wraps them in it and hands the small bundle to Giles, who stares at it for a moment. Patiently, she guides his hand up to the lump on his head, gently putting the impromptu cold pack in place. "Hold that there, now."

"Zelda," Giles rouses slightly, looking up at her. "You saved our lives."

She looks at him strangely. "Did I?"

"You did!" He sits up, energized. "We got out, we got to the docks… I think – I think he was stronger in the rain, I don't know. I-I suppose that makes sense, that natural water would be better… At the end, he was, was…"

"He was what? What happened?" Zelda steps close, picking up the other chair to sit near him. "Giles, Elisa is _gone_ , what in hell _happened_?"

Giles stops to gather himself, aware that he's rambling. "I-- I'm sorry. It's… hard to explain." He sits back, adjusting his grip on the ice pack. "Elisa told me once that he'd been worshiped as a god." He looks up, completely serious. "I think that was… with good reason."

Zelda draws back slightly, eyes askance. "What are you saying?"

"He could heal. By touch." Giles pats his raised arm briefly with fingers splayed, "By touching you. I know, I know that sounds crazy. But he healed _me_. He--" Giles sighs, "it was a misunderstanding. My fault; I fell asleep while Elisa was at work and he was _hungry_ …"

"You called Elisa at work," Zelda remembers. 

Giles nods. "He mistook one of my cats for food." Zelda winces. "Well, how could he know? They kept him chained up like an animal, it's not like anyone _talked_ to him! Anyway, I woke up and saw what he'd done, I was upset, he panicked and ran off… he scratched me, here," Giles sets the ice down briefly and holds out his forearm. "Pretty deep, too. Poor Elisa, she got back just in time to pick up both our mess. She found him, downstairs." He laughs a bit, shaking his head. "It's lucky the cinema does as badly as it does – no one was there to see him, and Elisa was able to get him back up here." Giles sighs. "He was so _sorry_ \- and so was I, they must have been starving him with as much as he ate while he was here. He was actually very gentle with my other cats, afterward," Giles adds quietly. "But – he came up to me when Elisa was cleaning me up, and he put his hand on my arm, like this—" he mimes it briefly, touching Zelda's arm. "And – the blue marks on his skin just _lit up_! It was so beautiful. He did that, and then he touched my head." He shrugs, a little breathless. "I thought he was just apologizing, I had no idea—" 

Giles pauses for a moment, studying Zelda. "The next morning, when I went to change the bandage, my arm was fine. Not a mark on it. And I had hair on my head again." He laughs, a bit shaky, "I thought I'd fallen asleep with my toupee on for a minute!" He looks embarrassed for a moment, but sobers quickly. He and Zelda don't really know each other; if not for Elisa's rescue mission, they likely never would have met in person. "I realize that's not really proof. I _was_ wearing the toupee that night at the lab when you helped us, but I'm sure you weren't looking at me at the time…"

"Three shots..." Zelda's look has gone far away. "At the lab, that day – ugh, that horrible day!" She shakes herself slightly. "Strickland was torturing that creature – and he fought back," she raised her eyebrows at Giles. "bit two of his fingers right off and spit them out on the floor, and of course we got called in to clean it all up. But just before Mr. Fleming called us, we heard gunshots – three of them." She sits back, contemplating. "Those bullets had to have hit him; Elisa told me he'd been bleeding when she first saw him."

Giles looks at her. "I never saw wounds on him when he was here."

"Neither did I." They sit with that thought for a moment. "That's why you wanted me to see that glow in the water?" Zelda doesn't like where that thought is taking her, and Giles' look isn't helping at all. She nods to herself, bracing for the worst. "You're gonna tell me something terrible, ain't you?"

He lowers the ice pack, staring at it while he fidgets for a moment. 

"That man… that _animal_ , Strickland. He shot them." Giles looks ill. "I just turned, and he was there – he hit me and I fell," he gestures to the bruising lump on his head, "and then I heard the gunshots. Two, then one more. I – I couldn't, couldn't _get up_ , my head wouldn't… I couldn't do anything! I saw them both just _crumpled_ at the end of the dock, I've never seen something like that before, that son of a bitch _shot my friends_." There are tears in Giles' eyes, fury and sadness warring with one another as he shakes his head. "I hit him. I grabbed – I don't even know what it was, but it was there and I grabbed it and I just _hit_ him as hard as I could. Elisa…" Zelda has a fist to her mouth and he tries to calm down. He has to tell her this; it's important. "I picked her up, I couldn't think of anything else to do, and then – I saw him, the creature, _move_. He got back up like something a hundred feet tall and he was _glowing_ , blue light moving everywhere on him like a whole galaxy... I saw the hole in his chest and I watched him just _wipe it away_ like it was nothing. I was as close to him as I am to you right now." Giles takes her hand. "It was like the rain was giving him strength – Elisa's rain, that she always knew was coming," he smiles at that and wipes his eyes, but grows serious again. "He killed Strickland. Slashed his throat like a – like a king, executing a criminal. And then he came back to us," he looks down, remembering. "I was holding Elisa and, god, she didn't weigh anything. He knelt down in front of us and he touched her, so softly… he looked at me for just a second, and he was so _calm_. The sirens were coming then, but it was like he didn't even care. He just picked her up, and held her close, and jumped into the water."

Zelda reaches out to touch one of his hands where they rest on his knees. "And then we saw…" She can't say more, afraid of dispelling something so impossible. 

He nods, resolved. "We did. We did," he says again, softly. He looks up, taking in all of Elisa's things surrounding them – the small, homey decorations on shelves and scattered on the floor, and the mundane bits and pieces of her everyday routine; the tiny things that gave her joy – and emotion chokes him suddenly. "I just… wish…" His expression crumples. _I wish I could have said goodbye_.

"I know," Zelda nods, clasping his hands in hers and fighting tears of her own. "I know. But she's with him, you said. And he wasn't afraid, and we both saw what we saw. That's gotta be enough for us now. We've gotta have faith that they're okay, and we didn't do what we did for nothing."

His breath is harsh in the silent apartment, but he squeezes her hands and lets the feeling wash over and past him. "You're right," he sighs, nodding to her in gratitude, and manages the ghost of a smile. 

Zelda smiles back, just a little, willing herself to believe her own words. Elisa is alive, she tells herself – alive and happy, and enjoying the hell out of that fish-man of hers. Good Lord. She feels herself blushing, and there's the slightest spark of envy at the memory of Elisa's knowing smile. She deserves it, Zelda thinks; she deserves every little thing that can make her happy. With new resolve, she looks around them at the mess Strickland caused. She lets go of Giles' hands and starts to busy herself with putting things back in order.

"What are you doing?" Giles asks, though he knows it's a silly question. Zelda gestures with the broken cup she's picked up.

"You don't think she'd want her place left like this, do you? I know I wouldn't. Besides, I don't see either one of us getting any sleep tonight – may as well put on some coffee and do something useful in the meantime."

He has to concede her logic and bends down as though to help, only to get a throb of pain at his temple and a hissed rebuke for his trouble. 

"Ssst! You just sit right there!" she tuts, waving him back to his chair. She resumes, shaking her head while she bustles her way through cleaning up. "Ain't it just the way," she muses, "a man finally lifts a finger to help, and he's got a head injury so he shouldn't." She purses her lips for a moment. "Maybe it's the head injury caused it in the first place."

It makes a laugh bubble up from behind her and she turns back to see the same amused expression on Giles' face that she always saw on Elisa's. She's not used to actually _hearing_ the laughter, she realizes.

"Okay, okay," Giles' hands are up in surrender. "Let me—" he stops suddenly, looking around them.

"What?"

"It's still raining outside."

She blinks. "Yes?"

Giles is looking around more urgently now, glancing up toward the ceiling. "Elisa had all her pans out – and some of mine, actually – because it was like a sieve in here. I was trying to figure out how to get Mr. Arzoumanian up here to fix things without him finding anything out, but…" they both look around now, where only one or two spots are letting the occasional drip through.

Zelda stares, then throws her hands up in the air. "…I give up. This is all beyond me, and it is _way_ too late to get it all figured out tonight. I am gonna put on some coffee, and clean up, and just go from there." She nods emphatically at Giles and proceeds to do exactly that.

"Yeah..." Giles is looking a bit more shell-shocked than a simple head injury would account for, although he rallies valiantly. "I'm just going to… totter over to my place for some aspirin, and see how my cats are doing. I'll leave my door open in case I fall over," he only half-jokes, sparing a last glance at the ceiling.

Zelda watches him until she's sure he can at least walk a straight line, then turns back to cleaning. Only a few things were damaged by Strickland's fit, thankfully, so the kitchen area is restored in short order. The scattered pots come next, though Zelda is obliged to watch her step among the floorboards as the gaps in them threaten to bite down on the heels of her shoes. A search for towels to mop up the puddles brings her to the bedroom nook, and she pauses to glance warily at the bed. It's barely rumpled; the coverlet is still up, and only the faintest wrinkles show that anyone was here. She blushes as she straightens the bedclothes – obviously Elisa and her strange lover didn't spend much time here! – though the obvious question that follows makes her blush even more. 

Giles' voice drifts over as he reassures his cats, and Zelda lets the vague sounds of his puttering wash over her as she continues setting things to rights. At last, she looks over to the little bathroom that she just can't avoid any longer. It's silly, but she knows now: That was _their_ space. 

She peeks in, feeling ridiculously timid, until she spies the mess of water with Dr. Hoffstetler's – with _Dmitri's_ \- strange concoction overflowing the tub and spread half across the floor. She remembers her panicked call to Elisa, telling her she had to get out of here _now_ , and envisions her and Giles trying to help that poor creature, sick as he was, with Strickland barreling down on them. It's not fair, she can't help but think; can't a body carve out a little happiness in peace? She sighs and shakes her head, instinctively looking heavenward – and pauses, her eye caught by what looks alarmingly like a water-mark high up on the walls, nearly at the ceiling. That can't be what she's seeing, how would Elisa--? 

"Jumpin' Jesus, that girl…" Zelda finds herself laughing, caught between admiration and complete embarrassment.


	3. Chapter 3

She exits the now-sparkling bathroom and hears paper rustling next door. "How d'you take your coffee?" she calls.

"Black as night, sweet as sin," comes the answer, punctuated by a meow.

It makes Zelda smile as she prepares her own cup; she can easily see why he and Elisa are friends. Stepping over, she eases Giles' door the rest of the way open and sees him gathering drawings from the large drawing board that dominates a large portion of the room.

He turns, not looking up; he's still moving gingerly, but he seems a lot steadier. "I should hide these somewhere," he sighs. "I don't think we want the good doctor they're sending over to see them." 

Noting the subject matter in them, Zelda nods grimly. "Especially since he'll probably come with a couple of those nice boys with white helmets to keep us all safe." She puts their coffee down and looks over at the sketch he's holding; the fish-man was obviously sitting in Elisa's bathtub, resting his head on the side. One arm rests by his head and the other drapes down to the floor. It's beautiful – there's a dancer's grace in the pose – but the fatigue she can see as well hits Zelda with a wave of sadness. She blinks hard and turns toward the window. "Lord, if it's not a miracle that poor thing survived all of us. Kept in that godawful lab, and then her tiny bathtub like some goldfish from a fair…"

"I don't imagine he'd take a good view of that practice," Giles muses, setting the sketch down. "Can you hand me one of those blank sheets? I don't want these to smudge."

She hands him one, observing how he carefully separates each drawing between clean sheets of paper. Once the layer is settled, he turns to the drawing board. "All right," he sighs, "Last one…"

Zelda follows him and looks down at her friend's face rendered in fine, sweeping dark lines on the paper. Elisa is embracing her love, lost in apparent bliss as he holds her. Her hair floats gently above her head, surrounding his and fading into the darkness. The paper is covered with charcoal, turning it into a window to the deep water that surrounds them both, revealing only the faintest details of his body as it covers hers. Elisa, by contrast, shines bright, her features and expressive hands brought out by where the charcoal has been erased to leave empty paper.

Zelda's hand hovers over the drawing, nearly touching Elisa's cheek. "I didn't know you could see the future."

"Neither did I." She looks up at Giles and discovers he's blinking back tears too. They share a faint smile, and he turns back toward the stacked drawings. "I hate that I have to hide these," he says quietly. "Hell, even hiding them is still dangerous; the safer thing would be to just destroy them, but I can't, I just – I _can't_ do that. Not to them." He reaches out to the portrait. "These are all I have."

Zelda starts briefly, and puts a hand to her pocket. "Not quite…" She brings out a small, folded piece of paper. Looking a little abashed, she carefully starts unfolding it. "They were in the tub; the poor thing was in such bad shape, he was shedding them –" Shining with faint iridescence, a small scattering of scales lies on the paper in her hand. "I couldn't just throw them away," she shrugs.

"No…" Giles breathes, reaching out and barely touching one of them. They lie in fragile translucence like opals against the paper, nearly the size of his thumbnail. "Here, I can –" He turns quickly, sifting through one of the piles at his bookshelf until he comes up with a couple of envelopes. He hands them to her, a bit shy. "If you don't mind…" he indicates one of them.

"'Course not," she smiles, and carefully divides the delicate scales between them. "Is there someplace we can put them?"

"What about…" Giles considers, then picks one of the books from the seemingly endless stacks. "Ah, here we go. I think poetry is fitting enough, don't you? And," he casts about for a moment before deciding on the book stack on the television. "Here, do you think? For now, at least, until you can go home?"

Zelda nods her approval. "I'd appreciate that. We gotta hold on to what we can, don't we? And there ain't no one else I can even talk to about this." She stops suddenly, looking down.

"What's wrong?"

"…It's my fault." She's shaking her head, suddenly angry at herself. "We could've made it to the docks and let him go with no one the wiser, but I had to go and run my damn fool mouth in front of my no-good husband." Her eyes plead with Giles, guilt striking her anew at the bruises spreading at his temple. "He's the reason Strickland was here - he told him about Elisa."

Giles gently takes the envelopes and sets them down, moving to place Zelda's still-warm coffee cup in her hands. He seats them both on the couch. "What happened?"

She lets out an exasperated breath. "I was stupid. I've been so used to Brewster not payin' me no nevermind that I didn't even think twice when I talked to Elisa on the phone about everything. Makes me so mad to think about it… all these years with that man, I feel like I'm talking to a wall, only it turns out he _was_ listening and just not sayin' anything back." She takes a quick gulp of her coffee and gathers herself. "Strickland came to our house. How he found us, I don't know, but he barged in mad as anything, wanting to know where 'that thing' was." Her eyes turn fearful as she remembers. "He was unhinged. You- you hear about that, you know, but I never thought I'd ever _see_ it. Soaking wet from the rain, he backed me right into the wall, and he was raving about Samson and Delilah like he was sent from the Lord Himself. And his hand, oh—" her face twists in disgust, "they tried to re-attach his fingers, but it didn't take… They'd turned black, and there in the house I could _smell_ how rotten they'd gone." She watches Giles' hands tremble a bit as they lift his coffee cup, and looks down at her own. "He was sick with fever, I could feel it comin' off of him, he was so close. He was so far gone, he… _tore_ his fingers _off_ , I swear to God, and then put his gun right up to my face."

"My god, Zelda…" Giles reaches out, but she shies away.

"You don't understand! I _knew_ what was going to happen. I couldn't let him come after Elisa, I couldn't! Even if it meant I was going to God right then and there, I wasn't gonna just let him hurt her. I was _ready_. And then my own goddamn _husband_ had to open his mouth and give it all away like that—" Her mouth is a hard, grim line. "I never mistook Brewster for no saint, but when he did that…" Her words run out as she shakes her head again. "I called you two the second Strickland was gone, and then I tried calling Occam to say their man had gone crazy. It was the truth, at least – the evidence was right there on my living room floor! And then I told my husband," Zelda's eyes are fierce now, and Giles quails a bit under them, "I told him, 'Brewster, I am going to try to un-do what you just done. Now you can just _sit_ right there again, and you just pray the men that man works for don't come here decidin' he was on to something, but if they do, and they take us away… Brewster, so help me God, I will make sure they shoot you first _just so I can watch'_."

Giles' hand flies to his mouth in a bark of horrified laughter. "Oh my – oh my _god_. Oh my god, Zelda…" His hand hovers in wary sympathy near her shoulder as the fire in her expression calms again.

"I guess I thought I could trust him, as my husband. I thought, after so many years of – Oh, hell, I don't know _what_ I thought. I shouldn't've just run my mouth, assuming everything'd be okay." The energy from her outburst drains out of her. "It's my fault for not thinking, and _his_ fault Strickland came after you. You wouldn't have got hurt, and Elisa might – might not have—"

Giles' hands surround hers over the coffee cup in her lap. "It wasn't your fault, it couldn't be. If he'd already found you, then he had to know about Elisa too – you always worked together, right?"

Zelda nods. "We did. And they knew that," she realizes.

"So knowing about one of you was going to lead to the other sooner or later anyway. We wouldn't have been safe here no matter what happened. Although, if you'll forgive me," he leans back to look at her with wry not-quite-humor, "I'm grateful he went to your place first."

He gets a faint sidelong smile, and a flick of her hand at his arm.

"I am so sorry that happened to you, though." Giles reaches up to touch her shoulder. "I can't even imagine—you were so _brave_ , I could never…"

Zelda gives a short, cynical laugh. "You were the one who hit him, remember?"

"Ah, god," he answers with a humorless laugh of his own, "It doesn't feel remotely close to what you did. And how terrible is it that we can sit here and compare notes on such an awful spectrum?" 

They sit that way for a moment, until one of Giles' cats jumps onto the couch for attention. It trills, bumping against Zelda's arm to demand notice, and pulls a short laugh from her as she reaches to oblige it. Giles adds a few scritches of his own to the cat's ears, his eyes going distant in thought.

Zelda looks at the drawing board, her attention pulled again toward the couple on the paper. She's reminded suddenly of how Elisa was immediately drawn to the tank that held "the Asset", as he'd been called. Shortly after that, Zelda found herself having to fend off curious questions as to why she was eating her lunches alone; no, she and Elisa weren't fighting, Elisa just had her own business going on and Zelda was leaving her to it and not being nosy, _thank you_. Elisa would often return to work with a faint smile - the sort that young lovers get who've just sneaked away to be together. 

She finds herself remembering odd things, like the fact that she can't think of a time that Elisa ever tried to protect herself from the rain; Zelda's fairly certain she doesn't even own an umbrella. She thinks of Elisa's occasional habit of overfilling her mop buckets, caught up in watching the water rippling instead of paying attention. The rain still pattering against the window makes her remember Giles' earlier confusion; how could her roof be leaking _less_ with it still raining outside? For that matter, how was it that her apartment was leaking, but Giles' wasn't? She thinks of Elisa's scars, the ones she'd had since infancy – perfectly symmetrical on either side of her neck. Everyone, even Zelda, always assumed they were an injury, or some strange attempt to open her airway so long ago. And she'd been found in the water of a river… how she'd survived that as an infant, Zelda didn't know.

The picture of Elisa before her looks almost like she's sharing a secret.

She comes back to herself and glances a bit guiltily next to her, only to see that Giles is staring at the portrait too. Both of them have their hands at the same spot on the side of their necks, and the same wondering expression. 

Giles looks like he's thinking of being embarrassed, but then doesn't bother. He shrugs slightly. "I can't help but wonder, now… If we hadn't been discovered, and she let him go, what would have happened?" He frowns, testing that thought. "The two of them had such a bond; every chance they got, they spent together. I tried to give them their privacy, of course… and the fact that I felt I _should_ speaks volumes, doesn't it?" he realizes. "She would always find reasons to be touching him – little touches on his arm, or shoulder – and he was always, always watching her; his eyes would follow her wherever she was. They were each other's world." He smiles, remembering, but sobers again. "It tore Elisa apart, trying to say goodbye to him. He looked so confused when she stepped away from him; when he signed to her – "

"He could _sign_?"

Giles nodded, demonstrating. "I watched him sign to her, 'you, me, together'. God, that broke my heart when I saw it. He must have always thought she would go with him. She was shaking her head, I could make out that she was signing 'without'… I assume she was saying 'without me'. She turned away from him, and she looked like her world was ending…" He looks at Zelda, very serious. "I don't know what she would have done without him. Or him without her, for that matter."

"You think… they _had_ to be together—?" She's surprised at how unridiculous it sounds as she says it.

"I don't know. I don't," he shrugs, but it sounds like he's trying to convince himself. "I just know what I saw, and what I… what I _felt_. And I know I can't explain much of it at all." He looks back at the drawing board, deflating. "And now, we have to bury all of it."

A bit painfully, he rises from the couch. He gives the portrait one last, fond look, and carefully un-tapes it from the work surface. Zelda is there with a clean sheet of paper, and they finish stacking the drawings in silent solemnity.

"Where will you put them?"

Giles turns and picks up one of several portfolios lying off to one side. "These are my rejects," he explains. "I hate them with a passion for showcasing my failures, but like so many artists, I can't make myself get rid of them. At least now, they can provide a bit of camouflage," he shrugs, and gingerly slides his drawings beneath them in the portfolio. When he's done he frowns, looking around the cluttered apartment. "But I don't really have any good hiding places in here." 

Zelda gazes around too; Giles' apartment is messy enough to make her hands twitch to put it in order, but there really isn't anything that would qualify as a hidden space in it. Not that someone wouldn't have a hell of a time finding something in here; there are small avalanches of paper among Giles' stacks of books and scattered art supplies, and the cats winding endlessly through all of it create their own little pockets of chaos as they amuse themselves. One of them disappears behind a small screen, and she hears a telltale scratching, scuffing sound.

A thought hits her. "Do you have something you can wrap that in to protect it?"

"What are you thinking?"

She walks over to the screen where Giles' cat is finishing up its business. "I'm thinking that a toilet is a toilet, and folks don't like goin' and looking into them."

Understanding dawns, and Giles brightens. "That's brilliant – I know I've got an old dropcloth over here—" He finds it after a moment of rummaging, and they carefully cover up every inch of the portfolio before sliding it under the newspaper lining the cat box nook. Giles adds more newspaper above it, and admonishes the cats, "Don't get any funny ideas, now, any of you." He steps back, and they consider their work. "With any luck, we can bring those back out before long."

"From your mouth to God's ears, hon." Zelda puts a hand on his shoulder and watches him try to stifle a yawn. "Here, let's get some more coffee."

"May as well," he points out the window drowsily, "I think we've done what we can, and it'll be morning soon."

Back in Elisa's apartment, Giles murmurs his appreciation of Zelda's handiwork. "It looks lovely." His smile is tinged with sadness as he wonders how long it will be before Elisa's belongings have to go.

Zelda has the same thought, but decides not to dwell on it for now. She takes this quiet night for the oasis it probably is, and decides instead that if they make it through all of this, then they can worry about Elisa's apartment.

"Thank you," Giles says as she hands him his coffee. "And… thank you. For being here," he adds quietly.

Zelda nods once, not trusting herself to look beyond her own cup. "Least I could do." 

They sit, surrounded by Elisa's presence as the rain begins to fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to art described here: http://conceptartworld.com/books/guillermo-del-toros-shape-water-creating-fairy-tale-troubled-times/


	4. Chapter 4

4:30am is every bit as difficult a time to be awake as Giles remembers from his younger days, but Zelda plies him with coffee and cold packs for his head, and holds his attention with a steady stream of tales from her job at Occam with Elisa. She's a natural storyteller, and he gains a whole new insight into Elisa's various exploits with Zelda (as well as a chagrined respect for restroom maintenance.) Before he knows it, the sun is beginning to illuminate the bricks across the alley and he can hear the opening credits of the early morning matinee downstairs.

"It's tomorrow," he comments in _non sequitur_ as they pick their way through a makeshift breakfast. Neither of them is really hungry, but between a desire to not let Elisa's food go to waste and the possibility of this being the last time they eat for a while, they set to it with a sense of quiet obligation.

The knock at the door comes with the startlement and relief of the other shoe dropping. It's at the wrong door, which causes a bit of confusion; they're in Elisa's apartment, but the knock is at Giles'. Both of them are so drunk from sleep deprivation and stress that they just stare at each other for a moment, and then Giles rises to make his way over to answer.

He discovers a nondescript man in a suit with a bag, looking entirely out of place in the shabby surroundings – it's the doctor promised by General Hoyt. He seems too young for that profession (though Giles admits that more and more people in his view seem to fall into that category), and a bit nervous. He is accompanied by another, also nondescript man in a suit, but not the MPs that Zelda and he expected. 

He doesn't explain why he and Zelda are in the wrong apartment, and the two visitors don’t comment on it. Giles does, however, convene their little meeting back in his apartment. Despite the risk of having his hiding places discovered, he absolutely won't have Occam's men in Elisa's home.

The two men introduce themselves as Dr. Williams and Mr. Martin. The young doctor at least seems good enough for a First Aid assessment; he gives proper attention to Giles' head, testing his eyes' dilation carefully with a small flashlight, and even makes sure that Zelda hasn't been harmed. It's more than either one of them expects, and serves to make them even more suspicious of the other man - Mr. Martin seems content to keep his distance, hands folded and wearing an expression of benign blandness as one of the cats wanders by to inspect the cuffs of his slacks. Sounds from _The Story of Ruth_ drift up from below, providing a bizarre underscore to their odd tableau.

Giles answers the doctor's few questions: No, he hasn't slept; Yes, he's eaten; No, no nausea or vision troubles. He keeps waiting for the trap to spring, for military police to come storming through the doors… but the doctor is earnest, and Giles sees that he bears a similar degree of tension to his own. There's a certain awkwardness to him that has nothing to do with his relative youth, and Giles realizes, _He's trying not to say anything he shouldn't_. He can't help another guarded glance to the unmoving-yet-calm Mr. Martin. Zelda, he can see, has also sensed the odd tension; all through the night she kept up a near-constant stream of motion and conversation, but now she's silent and still in a nearby chair, watchful but doing her best to become part of the background. Anger briefly flares in Giles that someone so vibrant could suddenly be made so fearful – but then he understands with shame that this is not the first time Zelda would have had to do such a thing; she's likely much more seasoned at it than Giles ever had to be. 

The doctor finishes with Giles, and begins to gather his things. "Keep an eye on the swelling, and let me know if you have any troubles with dizziness or nausea." He hands over a card with a phone number, nods politely to Zelda, and takes his leave. His partner remains, and smiles faintly at them as the door closes.

"Mrs. Fuller. Mr. DuPont." He nods to each of them and seats himself on the couch where he can address them both. "General Hoyt and Occam Labs want to express their deepest sympathy for your friend, and for the disruption you've experienced in your lives." ( _"Disruption"_ … Giles barely chokes back outraged laughter.) Martin continues. "I can't imagine how difficult this has been. Rest assured, there will be a full investigation." His expression seems to show genuine concern, albeit through a veneer of professional detachment that seems so typical of spokespeople. He leans back a bit, placing his hands on his knees. "In the meantime – we must ask for your continued discretion in this matter. Multiple lines of inquiry need to be followed, and there are issues of national security, you understand."

Giles suddenly remembers that he didn't introduce himself to this man who addressed him by name anyway. The realization – of course they would do it – of being looked up, of having the various traces he's left in the world put under a microscope, of likely having a _file_ about himself now, crawls unpleasantly up his spine. Mr. Martin's expression remains passive – there is no wolf's-grin transformation, no sneered accusation, or threat… but there doesn't have to be, does there? It's much worse, Giles thinks, looking at this man in a suit who could be anything from a lawyer to an assassin; there's no telling what Occam knows or doesn't, but their representative's quiet, almost _sympathetic_ calm speaks of power and consequence in a way nothing else could.

Giles nods, slowly. "Yes. I understand."

Zelda, too, has seen this. She tries to shrink another inch, and somberly agrees.

It's the correct answer, and they're rewarded with a nod and another faint smile. "Of course, we also appreciate the effort that this will take; the two of you may have to curtail your normal interactions until things are sorted out, and we don't want you to undergo undue hardship." He turns to Zelda, who uses every ounce of strength to keep from flinching guiltily. "Mrs. Fuller, you've been with Occam for over ten years, and from what I understand, you've been an excellent employee. I don't expect you to answer immediately, but I hope you'll consider continuing on? We can assign you to a different department, if that helps, and we'll make sure your pay rate reflects your years of service. At the very least, I'm sure you would have an excellent recommendation from Occam, should you decide not to stay."

"I—" Zelda fumbles, "That's… very generous. I'd like to think about it, sir. If that's all right."

"Of course."

Giles sits a bit straighter as his turn comes. "Mr. DuPont – if you'll forgive my indelicacy, I believe you are in between jobs at the moment?"

It stings, but Giles nods. Martin's head tilts, acknowledging the admission. "We don't wish to make it impossible for you to make a living…" he reaches for a small notepad and pencil in his inner jacket pocket and hands it to Giles, "if you'd be so kind as to indicate your most recent rate of pay, we would be happy to assist in defraying some of your day-to-day expenses."

As if they wouldn't already know that, Giles reflects grimly as he takes the proffered items. But that's the point, he realizes – he's not being asked for his income, not by this deliberately unmemorable and terrifying person; he's being asked for his _price_. It his him like a sock to the gut he once suffered in his youth, with all the humiliated fury that came with it. This little production is how the general is ensuring that he and Zelda stay right where he wants them, wrapped in equal parts fear and obligation – or worse, sated comfort that makes them forget what they went through, and what it meant to them.

He stares at the paper for a long time, while dialogue from the movie downstairs drifts through the room.

_"Look around you, at this hard wilderness, and what do you see but mourning women? Where is Mahlon's invisible God of mercy? Where are his blessings?"_

_"You are one of them. You gave my son joy, and you sent him away with peace in his soul. I am grateful, my lady."_

Tears prick his eyes, and he has to blink hard to stop them. He thinks about the day Elisa came here, panicking and furious because someone she loved was in danger and he just didn't understand, not then. He remembers how the rest of that day went, as it methodically stripped him of all his illusions, and how he was finally made to face his own aloneness, and Elisa's. He catches Zelda's sympathetic look, and thinks of the first time he saw her, helping Elisa to wrestle the laundry bin carrying the creature to the dock. She'd been as terrified as he was, and yet there they both were, doing the impossible. And it hits him, then: _We did it. We actually did it._ No matter what happens now – even if they come back and imprison him, even if they _kill_ him – he and Zelda and Elisa , all of them overlooked and underestimated as a matter of course, all of them actually _beat_ Occam. Because he knows, they wouldn't be having this polite conversation right now if they hadn't. 

He lifts his chin – he helped to free a _god_ – and knows that he can do this, and not lose himself. Very deliberately, he writes down the salary he earned at Klein  & Saunders years ago rather than the last freelance fee he collected, and meets Martin's eyes as he hands it over.

Martin, for his part, seems to only see an old man gathering his tattered pride about him. He takes the notebook with a murmured thanks and pleasant smile, and stows it away. "I should head back, and get this in motion for you." He rises, turning to Zelda once again. "Mr. Fleming understands you may not be back at work just yet, Mrs. Fuller. Take whatever time you need, and please," he addresses both of them, "don't hesitate to call if you need anything."

Giles sees him out – partially to make sure he actually _leaves_ the building, to Mr. Martin's apparent amusement – and then he and Zelda both release the breath they hadn't known they were holding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Author's note: I freely admit, Mr. Martin is modeled after Agent Phil Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D., particularly Clark Gregg's portrayal of him. He's just got a perfect "calm-yet-creepy" vibe when he wants to… )


	5. Chapter 5

It took her about an hour to stop feeling like a mouse that a cat had cornered, but Zelda eventually pulled herself together enough to head back for her car. It wasn't at all easy to leave; aside from the aura of support the two of them built through the night, she didn't relish the thought of going back to deal with Brewster. Giles offered to walk her back to the docks, and she wanted to say yes, but the idea itched at the back of her mind that that would be a perfect opportunity for Mr. Martin or someone like him to come sneaking back and start searching for reasons to stop being so friendly. She left with a promise to call when she got home (to make sure she _did_ get home, Giles didn't say), and extracted a promise from him in return that he'd take things easy.

Walking down the fire escape had been harrowing – how on Earth had Elisa done it all this time, being able to see right through to the street below? Still, she couldn't deny that the view of the sun coming up over the city was really something… 

She got to the dock uneventfully enough; no one was obviously following her, anyway. With the rain cleared, the water was calm, and Zelda caught herself looking for her friend. Would she have tried to stay? Would they both have just started swimming and not looked back? The thought made tears sting her eyes, even though she knew that was the best thing for them. She stayed for a little while, letting herself cry a bit, and sent up a prayer just in case the Lord would be willing to hear her.

Now, she's on her way back to a home that may not ever feel right again, armed only with the memory of Giles' hug and a small envelope of impossibilities tucked deep into a pocket. She's already making plans to come back, and she doesn't even try to tell herself that it's just to make sure Giles is still all right.

-

Giles sits on his couch, absently petting his cat Thor, who's draped himself across Giles' lap. He turned the television on out of habit once Zelda left, but it seemed too loud after the quiet he'd shared with her through the night and he turned it off again. The cats reminded him to feed them, and he was able to rely on muscle memory to get through that task, but his brain doesn't seem to want to engage properly with anything else right now.

He doesn't know what he's going to do.

Days ago, he was laughing with Elisa over her flooded bathroom and his new hair. Days before that, he thought the most important things in the world were returning to work for an ad firm that kicked him out, and mooning over a young man whose only genuine qualities were his hatreds. 

He feels like he's been washed up onto an alien shore that somehow looks exactly like what he's used to, but doesn't feel the same at all. Elisa should be walking in and watching musicals with him, or puttering with something next door… 

All at once, the lack of ordinary noise is just as unbearable as the sound from his television had been.

He looks down at himself and realizes he's still dressed in yesterday's clothes. He still hasn't slept. He glances over to his bed, thinking about the logistics of napping, or even changing into pajamas and sleeping as long as he can. Neither thought appeals to him. 

He needs to go next door, just once.

Carefully he slips out from under the cat and goes back to Elisa's. He absently notes the damage from the door being forced, and wonders what he's going to tell Mr. Arzoumanian about any of this. 

( _"Nothing"_ , says the general, implacable and hard.)

Zelda has put everything in order wonderfully, but without her here to fill up the space with her energy, Elisa's apartment seems forlorn in the gently flickering light from the movie below. 

He looks at the time, thinking this would have been about when Elisa began preparing for sleep – or, since the creature's rescue, would still be showing him things on Giles' television or from his books. He sees Elisa's red lettering on the calendar page below the clock and realizes it's still on the day before. It feels a bit strange to tear the page off – the day would be gone then, his mind absurdly reasons – but it's worse to think about leaving the calendar on a day that caused Elisa so much pain.

The twin snaps of torn paper are loud in the emptiness as he pulls with nervous force. On the reverse of the page, the thought for the day looks up at him:

_The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide._

He laughs, then, a little breathless, thinking about all of Elisa's certainties in the midst of utter madness.

-

Brewster is at the kitchen table when Zelda walks in. He's nursing a cup of coffee, and a part of her marvels that he even knew how to make any. Deliberately, she looks away from him as she sets her umbrella by the door and starts removing her coat.

"There was a man here this morning. 'Bout eight. "

She goes cold for a moment, tries to school her expression into calmness before looking at him.

Brewster doesn't look up. "Said he was 'checking on my welfare', and that you was okay. Said you'd be home soon." 

Mr. Martin, then, she thinks. Or at least she hopes so; the thought of more people knowing her whereabouts makes her skin crawl. She glances over to the television where Strickland's fingers landed, but they're not there.

"He picked 'em up." Brewster is looking sidelong at the same spot. "Calm as you please, 'let me take care of that for you', like it was his dog made a mess and not some crazy sonofabitch tearin' his own goddamn fingers off. Picked 'em up with a hanky and tucked 'em right in his pocket." He shudders, looking about as rattled as Zelda feels about that.

"What did you tell him?" 

"Didn't volunteer nothin', if that's what you're thinking. Don't know what you done, woman, and I don't _wanna_ know. All I said when that man asked me was that other man came in with a gun, talkin' all crazy and threatening us, and then he got it in his head to go after the mute girl you work with." His lips press together at Zelda's raised eyebrows, and he has the grace to look down. "I didn't give you up." He meets her eyes again. "That's all I was thinkin'."

She dimly appreciates that he tried to protect her. But her best friend is still gone, and the living room has the sour aftertaste of fear infecting it now. Resentment has coiled too tightly around her grief for her to be graceful about anything right now, so she says nothing.

He won't meet her eyes, and finally gets up and goes to the front hall for his jacket. "'M gonna go out for a bit."

Zelda passes a hand over her face. "Fine. I'm goin' to take a bath, and I'm goin' to bed." That's all Zelda's got the energy for at this point – she can let Giles know she's home, and then try to wash off the past day and clear her brain out. Maybe then she'll see what she can deal with. 

-

Giles wakes from a dream of trying to draw Elisa and her beloved, only Elisa kept turning so he could never see her face. He'd been erasing and re-drawing her, never quite getting her features right and getting more and more frustrated, and she just wouldn't remain still. It's unsettling, more so because it takes him a moment to remember where he is.

He'd stayed in Elisa's apartment, not wanting to let go of what little he had left of her in his life now. The tears had come again as he slowly paced through the tiny world she'd made for herself, and he let them run unchecked as he found himself touching various things in turn – a brooch she favored, a well-worn pair of shoes she loved… Her presence was still strong enough that he could almost believe that she had just stepped out, and would reappear at his side at any moment. It was that last thought, and the memory of seeing her disappear into the canal, that finally sank him onto her couch and left him sobbing until he'd exhausted himself.

He rubs his face, grimacing at how gritty his eyes are. His glasses fell to the floor at some point, and he fumbles to retrieve them as he gets his bearings. It's still daylight, but he can see that several hours have passed. He feels a bit better, having been surrounded by Elisa's scent and breathing the air she breathed, and he can just imagine the sympathetic smile that Elisa would have for him now, even as she'd be chivvying him to get up, clean himself up, and take care of himself.

The thought of her brings his dream back to mind, and he has a brief moment of panic before remembering… he actually used her as a model for some of his pieces. Quickly he gets up, brushing himself off and straightening the pillows on the couch before returning to his apartment and making a beeline for a stack of sketched paintings by his window.

"No… no…"He flips through one after another, until finally spotting the one he wants. It's a study for a bath soap ad; more of a portrait study in this case, as Elisa had been such a wonderfully interesting and patient model. He'd done multiple quick paintings from different angles, getting caught up in the play of light over Elisa's features that particular day. He's just starting to put together his sketch pad and pencils for a new drawing when he can almost perfectly feel the tap at his shoulder that Elisa would often give him when he was getting too wrapped up in his work. She would give him a _look_ , equal parts amused and chiding, and he would sheepishly relent.

"You're right, my dear," he smiles to the painted images, comforted now that he's found them. He sets them near his drawing board and goes to get cleaned up before he can come up with any excuses.

-

Zelda wakes twenty minutes before her alarm would have gone off for work. The past day's events play through her mind like a bad newsreel, dispelling the last fog of sleep with unpleasant abruptness. She stares at the clock on the nightstand, wondering for a moment if she remembered to set the alarm, and wondering if she should go in to work or not.

Voices from the television drift faintly in; evidently Brewster came back from wherever he went. She weighs her options… she can stay at home with her husband, and possibly end up fighting; she can take the car and go somewhere, and possibly end up fighting over _that_ ; or she can go to work, with all of its emotional baggage and paranoia, and possibly end up arrested or worse.

She's honestly not sure which of those is the worst option.

Eventually, she decides that she'd rather have something to do, somewhere to direct her energy, instead of sitting here with her thoughts going in circles. If they were going to arrest her, she reasons, they could have done it any number of times already. And as much as she misses her friend, she can't just stop living herself, no matter how much it hurts.

She slips on a robe and pads quietly to where she placed her clothes from earlier. The envelope from Giles' is still safe, and she gingerly brings it out. She'll have to figure out a better arrangement for keeping its contents safe, but for now she can tuck it into the old shoebox at the back of the closet that still holds the shoes from her wedding. Thanks to working on her feet all the time, it's been a long time since she could wear them; at least now she can feel better about not giving them away.

With that settled, she sets about getting ready for work. It's amazing how much more easily it goes when she only worries about herself – for now at least, she reflects, Brewster can cook for his own damn self. 

She's shrugging into her coat and reaching for her purse when her husband breaks his silence again, though she wishes he hadn't. "Where you goin'?"

She takes one breath. "To work. I'm scheduled to work today, like always."

He scowls, glancing back at the television. "With that mute girl again, or is she in jail now?"

Zelda freezes, then completes the motion of opening the door. "She's gone, Brewster. Her name is Elisa. And she's gone."

-

The sun set long ago, and only the cats have interrupted Giles from his work for several hours. He is flanked by every painting and sketch he has of Elisa, and before him is her portrait, which has consumed his attention ever since he (hurriedly) fulfilled his duties to cleanliness and hunger.

He is in that wonderful space of inspiration that melts away time and physical limitation, when it feels like his mind is firing on all cylinders and there's nothing he can't do. Bit by bit, he's been re-creating his dearest friend's likeness, feverishly working to race ahead of any fading in his memory. Neither of them owned a camera; there are no photos to be had. It's this, or nothing, and he won't fail.

The colors flow from his brushes, seeming to blend themselves into just the right tones for the subtleties of her skin, the light caressing her hair, the shadows and folds of her blouse and sweater. He can't paint her beloved with her, and it aches to deny her that. But he can paint her looking _at_ him, over the viewer's shoulder, and try to express as much of her love for him as he's able. He brings out his red paints – the ones that Bernie dismissed so easily in Giles' work – and lovingly paints the red headband holding Elisa's hair back, a bright splash of color set against shining ebony that waves gently as though in a soft breeze. Her lips are quirked in the precursor to a sunny smile, and her eyes crinkle in the way they only do when she's completely delighted with something. In the tiniest flicker of defiance, he paints a faint blue glow in the reflections in her eyes.

At some point the sun comes up again; he's still working, but the portrait feels close to completion. He's becoming aware of himself again, of his body's various protests at the demands he's put on it. He's very thirsty, he realizes, and reaches a point where he feels like he can stop. The cats move when he does, clamoring for attention while he's up, and he apologetically offers them breakfast and a few pets to thank them for their patience. 

The first taste of water has him gulping it down and quickly pouring himself another glass – he hasn't lost track of time like this in _years_. He'll need to eat something soon, but for now just the water is doing wonders. Turning, he catches sight of the portrait and nearly drops his glass in shock as he thinks for just the briefest instant that Elisa has somehow come back. She's _there_ , just as she's always been. But then his eyes focus on the easel behind the canvas, and the paints scattered everywhere around it, and he knows there isn't anything more to do on this painting.

If he never produces another image for the rest of his life, this will be entirely worth it.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.”_ -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


	6. Chapter 6

Mr. Fleming apparently assumed she'd come in to work, because he's hovering near the time clock when Zelda steps out of the elevator. Rather than let her enter the queue, he takes her by the elbow and hustles her down the corridor.

"Don't worry about that right now, Zelda – we'll get you clocked in, don't worry." He leads them past the locker rooms, seemingly walking for the sake of doing so while he talks in a low voice. "I just want to make sure you appreciate the _delicacy_ of our situation, before you go joining the others. I know how much the staff enjoy gossip, despite the behavior I've tried to instill in everyone. It's a very _damaging_ practice that undermines morale. Are you understanding me, Zelda?"

"Yes, sir," she murmurs, working to keep up with him. 

"Good." He nods. "Now, if you're up for it," he actually glances at her for a moment, "I know that a lot has happened, but there's a lot of work to be done. I have your assignments right here, and you can get started." He indicates a sheet on his clipboard.

They've slowed, and Zelda gives herself a moment to really think about this. "…Yes, sir. I can do it." 

Fleming offers her a tight smile – more of a grimace, really – and hands off the assignment sheet. "Thank you, Zelda. I'm—" He cuts himself off and takes a breath. "Elisa was… She'll be missed," he fumbles quietly. 

"…Yes she will, sir." At least Zelda can agree with that sentiment.

Fleming nods, awkward. "Oh, and…" he flips through the clipboard pages to reach an envelope, "I was told to make sure you got this." He hands it to her, seeming not to notice her slightly wary expression. With that task accomplished, he excuses himself and hurries off, leaving Zelda to make her way back to the locker rooms.

On her way, she passes Lab T-4. A small team of men is rolling away on a runabout cart and she can see behind the closing door that the lab itself has been completely cleared. Everything they'd brought in to hold the being she'd helped set free is gone. It's both surprising and not, she supposes, if General Hoyt really wants to bury all of this. She thinks of Strickland's little bible lesson in her house and shudders, wondering how much the general will be tearing down before he's satisfied.

She gives herself a shake, and makes herself keep walking. If they're lucky, he'll stop at Strickland if they all stay quiet enough – even Mr. Fleming seems to understand that one. She tucks the envelope into her purse and heads over to her locker.

Fleming kept her long enough that she's the only one there, and she sighs quietly in relief. Maybe she should ask about a different schedule, to avoid any questions about Elisa… She glances over to her friend's locker, and is startled to see it's as empty as the lab – the lock is off and the door lies open, with nothing inside to show that anyone was using it. It's a nasty surprise, and Zelda can't help running her hand over the shelf and the inside as though to recover something of her friend from the empty space.

She spins back to her locker, trying to catch her breath. She doesn't know if she can do this.

For a few minutes, she just sits on the bench in front of her locker.

Elisa is gone. Not dead – not according to Giles' fierce belief and the scant evidence of her own eyes – but still gone, and under terrible circumstances. In this place, she's been erased; Fleming could barely even say her name, and made it clear that Zelda should follow his example. Normally, she'd be seeking out someone to talk to, to help her get her thoughts untangled, but that's the last thing she should be doing right now.

She sighs, letting her head rest in her hands. This is too big to figure out all at once, and she may as well be hitting her head against a wall if she tries. What she _should_ do, she thinks, as though saying it to Elisa, is to get up off her butt and take care of what she _can_ do. She reaches for her assignment sheet; it's a fairly long list, and it doesn't put her too close to too many people. With the time she's lost already, she's going to have to hustle to stay on top of it. Any other day, she'd be complaining about that, but today it's a small blessing. 

Briskly, she takes her coat off and starts changing into her uniform. She can do this.

With her cart in front of her and her feet already protesting, it's surprisingly easy to fall into a rhythm that makes time pass smoothly. Once or twice she tenses when she sees MPs or someone in a lab coat seeming to move in a hurry, but no alarms are raised and no one seems to even see her, just as usual. She manages a friendly nod to one of the other women cleaning, although she declines Duane's invitation for a smoke. The others are obviously aware that _something_ has happened, but they seem to be respecting that she's staying quiet and leave her alone. It's an awkward dance – their looks and conversations all veer around the void that was Elisa, and she has to let them. But they all manage, and her shift passes without incident.

The locker room is quieter than usual, and no one looks over at Zelda – or, more specifically, at the empty locker near her. She sighs and endures it, and concentrates on changing quickly as the others file out. The bank will be open soon; she fetches the envelope from her purse and takes a cursory look at the numbers – only to do a double-take and check again. That can't be right – she must have someone else's check by mistake. She glances quickly around, but most everyone is gone already. Carefully, she checks again, and sees that it's definitely her name on the paper… but the amount is three times what it should be. She can't just walk off with this; she needs to find Mr. Fleming.

It's very strange, making her way through the corridors in her street clothes. She tries not to flinch at the few curious glances she attracts, and concentrates on reaching Fleming's office without her knees giving out. He's still getting settled back in, she can see, as he fusses with a stack of files. Timidly, she knocks at the office door.

"Yes, Zelda?" He straightens, glancing at the envelope in her hand.

"Sir, I – I think there might be some kind of mistake." Gingerly, she offers it to him. 

He glances inside, purses his lips slightly, and hands it back to her. "Everything seems in order to me. Is there a problem?"

"…I—" She can't speak for a moment; numbers and possibilities are running too quickly through her head. 

"Zelda?" She remembers he's waiting for an answer.

"No. No, sir," she hears herself say. "There's… no problem." 

Fleming's smile is tight, but not hostile. "Good. See you Monday."

-

Giles is finally sitting down to a bowl of cereal when a rapid knock sounds at his door. It startles a yelp from him, and a slosh of milk onto his table. 

"Giles?" It's whispered, but urgent. "Giles, are you there? Oh, Lord…"

"Zelda?" He rushes to the door where she's fidgeting from foot to foot. "Are you all right, what's wrong?"

She hesitates at his threshold, torn. "I don't have no one else to ask, and I shouldn't get you mixed up in it, but – I need you to keep something for me?" She holds up a bank envelope.

Giles draws back. "Zelda, what--?" 

"It's mine," she says quickly, her other hand palm out. "I got my paycheck today, but this… Giles…" Wide-eyed, she whispers, "They're payin' me _triple_."

He steps forward again and draws her into his apartment as she shows him the new rate on her pay stub. "Zeus almighty…" 

"That's what they're payin' me to keep quiet." She eyes the piece of paper like it's a live bomb.

Giles has to agree with her response. "With such a reward, I'd assume any punishment would be at least as lavish. What do you plan to do with it?"

"I don't know. I went to the bank and deposited what I normally do, and then just cashed the rest. I've set aside what I usually take home, but," she shakes her head. "I can't keep this in my house. Brewster may not be able to find his own ass with both hands sometimes, but that man can sniff out a dollar from a mile away. As it is, I can only keep this from him for as long as he stays too lazy to do the banking himself." She looks heavenward and murmurs, "Sweet Jesus, what am I doing?..."

Giles looks at her, smiling softly, and puts a steadying hand on her arm. "You're trying to make some good come of all this. Of course I'll help."

She slows and nods, closing her eyes for a moment. "Thank you. I just—" she cuts off with a gasp as her eye catches Elisa's portrait. "Oh my god – Giles, you did that?" She turns, hand to her heart, and for the first time she notices the smudges of paint on his hands. " _Just now_?" 

He nods with slightly bashful pride. "Last night. And… into this morning." He shrugs, and joins her at the easel. "I'm not really sure when I began, but the sun was up when I stopped…"

Zelda eyes him with respect. "She always went on about how talented you were." She thinks of Elisa's stories and remembers something else as she takes in his mussed appearance and the bruising that stands dark against his pale skin. "She also said you were terrible about takin' care of yourself when you worked." 

Her assessing look has Giles putting his hands up in defense. "I was just sitting down to eat when you knocked," he gestures to the bowl on his table, which has since attracted the cats. "Oh – Thor! Athena, shoo!" 

She laughs as he fusses. "Don't tell me you call that a meal?" she indicates the rescued cereal bowl.

"I don't really cook," he shrugs. "Not often – and not well. I'm a typical lazy bachelor that way, I'm afraid."

"Mm-hm." Zelda's raised eyebrow speaks volumes. "Well. It's the weekend, and Elisa'd never forgive me if I let you starve, 'specially if you're helping me." Giles smiles at her, and she covers her self-consciousness by bustling toward his kitchen. "You got anything like food in here, or will I need to shop on the way over?"

"Oh, no, Zelda, you don't have to—"

"Just! Shush!" She waves a hand at him. "At least you appreciate my cooking – it'll be a nice change of pace for me," Her glance at the meager contents of his fridge leaves her shaking her head, "and the Good Lord knows you can use it."

Abashed, Giles surrenders. "I promise, my dear, I'll go and pick up some actual food today. It would be unforgivably rude to leave an artist without tools to work with." 

That comment earns him a wry smile, and Zelda relents. "Just be sure you take care of that head of yours, too. I'll come by tomorrow, if that's all right."

Giles places a theatrical hand over his heart. "As milady commands."

"Smart-aleck." She looks at the portrait as though to commiserate with Elisa. There's just so much detail in it; she can hardly believe how something created so quickly could be so very exact, and the rapid brushstrokes give an energy to the image that practically has a pulse and breath of its own. She tilts her head, studying Elisa's expression. "She's lookin' at _him_ , ain't she?"

Giles hums assent, wistful as he looks at it too. "I'm glad you can tell." 

"Whatever he was… he made her happy, didn't he?"

"And still is, I would hope."

"He'd better be, is all I can say." 

-

Giles notes with considerable relief that his mailman is the same greying, scowling man he's always been; he'd half-expected the general to have sent someone else. Not that he's friends with Giles, or anyone else for that matter. At best, Giles would call him "reliable".

Once he leaves, Giles fishes out his mail and, after a moment, takes Elisa's as well to bring everything upstairs. There are a few ads in her mail that he knows she would have just thrown out, so he does so. The only other thing is an electric bill, which becomes yet another reminder that he's going to have to speak with their landlord.

His own mail is about as interesting, except for one unexpected envelope. The only return address is for an "Ammit & Associates", which tells him nothing. He opens it, and reads, and then thinks this is how Zelda must have felt when looking at her paycheck… That's his name next to that number, but the two just won't fit together in his mind as he looks at them. On the other hand, it's an amount that would let him fulfill the general's edict that he be a quiet homebody. A contrary corner of his mind can't help but contemplate the alternative, but really – who would believe anything he had to say? What _would_ he say? He'd be dismissed as a crackpot and likely put away in a mental institution, and that would be a best-case scenario. He looks down again at the check in his hand, and reflects that he can at least put it to good use.

He shrugs into his jacket , and on the way to his van he runs into Mr. Arzoumanian making the rounds through his theater. "Giles!" He frowns, alarmed. "What happened to you?"

"Oh…" Giles reaches up to his face; he'd almost forgotten how he looked. "It's – a long story. I'm fine, though, really. Although," he gathers himself, "I do, ah, need to – to tell you. Elisa…" He takes a deep breath to keep from stuttering. "Elisa's… gone, I'm afraid." 

"Gone?" Arzoumanian is taking in Giles' appearance and his eyes widen.

Understanding, Giles speaks quickly. "She's fine, it's not – she's fine!" _I hope._ "It was very… sudden, though, and she couldn't come back to tell you or to take care of her things."

Mr. Arzoumanian looks at Giles for a long moment and then simply nods to himself. "She went with the _Nhang_ , then."

"I – I beg your pardon?"

" _Nhang_ , we say. River spirit." 

Shadows close in on Giles' vision for a second and it's like he can't breathe. "… _what?_ "

"I see him one day, in theater." Arzoumanian points with his chin, remarkably calm. "I'm working on projectors, loading next reel. I look down, _Nhang_ is watching bible movie, alone." He chuckles briefly, sadly. "At least someone come to watch. I leave him alone – best to do that with spirits. I work some more, then look up again and see Elisa with the _Nhang_. She touch him, here, very soft." he places a hand over his heart. "He hold her hand, put _his_ hand on _her_ heart. They go." He shrugs. "Stories in old country, they say, _Nhang_ sometimes takes people – trick them, usually. Elisa, though, she's a good girl." His smile is conspiratorial as he looks back at Giles. "I think _she_ take _him_."

Giles is gobsmacked. " _How_ —?" _How are you so calm?_ _How do you believe in such a fantastical thing? How did you not_ **say** _anything?_

He shrugs again, seeming to read Giles' mind. "My _tatik_ \- how you say, grandmama? She would tell us stories from home. Spirits, old gods. Growing up, I would laugh – thought I was _so_ smart, pfff…" he waves his hand. "When you're young, think you got everything figured out already. But grandmas, heh… you get older, you find out they _know_."

"So the other day, when you came up," Giles' hand flails weakly toward the stairs, "when the water was coming through Elisa's door…"

Arzoumanian thwaps the back of his hand on Giles' shoulder, making him jump. "Hey, I still got a theater to run – spirit is one thing, making a mess is another!" 

Giles has to lean on the wall for support. He hasn't felt this wrung-out since they first rescued the creature and got him breathing in Elisa's bathtub. "I can't… I can't believe you. You saw him." 

"Eh, what would I do? Spirits are not something to talk about, yes?"

"…no, you're right." Giles looks up at him. "Especially not now. We _can't_ talk about this." 

Arzoumanian nods, but studies Giles' downcast expression. "Is good to talk about friends, though, yes? Especially ones we miss." He smiles a little. "Maybe now and then."

"Yes. I think I'd like that."

"Good." He turns to go, but Giles stops him. "If I can, though – I'd like to take over the lease for Elisa's apartment. I don't know how long I can, but…"

Arzoumanian nods in sympathy. "Is okay. We see what happens."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes:  
> \- I had a theater professor who would invoke Zeus as an exclamation. Giles reminds me of him just a bit, so I gave him that nod.  
> \- Google kindly informed me that Mr Arzoumanian's name could be Armenian, so I ran with it. :)  
> \- River spirits in Armenian mythology: [Armeniapedia.org](http://www.armeniapedia.org/wiki/Armenian_pagan_culture) (approximate pronunciation: "nuh-HAN-guh")


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished at long last! Thank you to anyone still along for the ride... I always wanted to give Zelda and Giles closure, and I hope this fits the bill for them. :)

"Where do you think they are, now?" Zelda's gaze is far away as they sit at breakfast in Elisa's apartment. She's almost become accustomed to the near-constant hum of voices and music from the cinema below.

"I – I don't know," Giles blinks. For all that he's made himself believe that Elisa is still alive, he hasn't considered anything like a travel path for the two of them. Where _would_ they go? And how quickly would they travel? "He was from the Amazon, Elisa said. Do you think he'd try to go back?"

Zelda considers the thought, daunted. "That's forever away!"

"It is," Giles agrees with a frown. "Although, if he's a god…" he shrugs. "Either way," he adds at Zelda's concern, "I'm sure he wouldn't allow any harm to come to her."

Zelda subsides, still a bit fretful. "I never saw him strong, like you did. Only the once in that laundry hamper, and then when he was so sick."

Giles leans in and grasps her hand lightly. "They can do it. Wherever they're going, they'll get there." He smiles, thinking out loud. "Just on the way to the ocean proper, there are plenty of islands and inlets – and who knows what sort of shelter there is _under_ the water, though I hope they can get past the polluted areas first… "

"They'd probably head south either way." She tries to believe what she's saying. "We'll be getting snowstorms before too long, and Lord knows how they're staying warm enough as it is." 

"Mm. Well, there are plenty of lovely areas along the coast, and not all of them are inhabited." Giles smiles for a moment as he gathers their dishes. "They could be like all the other snowbirds heading south."

Zelda doesn't quite trust herself to respond, but she won't contradict the thought.

-

They begin something of a game: After Zelda's initial question, Giles begins trying in earnest to calculate where Elisa and her love could be at any given time. It leads to some interesting, if somewhat furtive, trips to the library on his part when he realizes he'll need more information than he has among his books. He's no stranger there, having used their extensive collections for drawing references at various times in the past; he even finds himself in familiar areas as he searches. He knows it's impossible to determine Elisa's whereabouts with any degree of accuracy, but that's not enough to discourage him. He takes careful notes on various marine animals, quietly comparing them with statistics of Olympic-level swimmers, and lets himself get lost in endless encyclopedia entries, and travelogues of river deltas and other coastal sites along the eastern states. Together – sometimes with Arzoumanian's help – he and Zelda conjure paths full of havens and playgrounds for their friends – places separate from cities and the more hostile aspects of nature, strung close enough together that they could keep moving if they wanted to. Arzoumanian, perhaps unsurprisingly, proves to be the most fancifully optimistic of them, bringing to bear all the tales from his childhood and his years immersed in the dreams of Hollywood. Nothing is ever written or marked on the old atlas they use from Giles' books; they're very careful about that. But they always remember where they left off, no matter how convoluted their imaginings get. It becomes a talisman for both of them – a way, somehow, to keep their friends safe.

Life settles into something predictable, if not altogether normal. Giles signs his name on the lease to Elisa's apartment with a melancholy determination, and with no clear idea of what he's actually going to do with the space, or her belongings. He balks at the idea of making it into some sort of shrine; Elisa is far too lively a person for something as maudlin as that, although he's amused at the thought of her probable reaction to having things like her little duck-shaped shoe brush or her egg cooking pot made into museum pieces of some sort. 

Zelda continues on the night shift at Occam, more subdued than she used to be, but no less fierce in defending Elisa's memory against anyone who feels like running their mouth about her. She keeps an eye out for Dr. Hoffstetler – or Dmitri, whoever he was – but she never sees him, and decides she shouldn't ask. She catches Mr. Fleming looking at her more than once, with something cautious in his expression. He's still as fussy as ever, but somehow seems to shy away from interacting with her more than he needs to. She chooses to see it as a badge of honor, and, thinking of Elisa, holds her head a bit higher around him sometimes just to see if he twitches. She also keeps her promise to see Giles on her way home from work, and makes it a habit. He's still pretty hopeless in the kitchen, but he _tries_ , bless him. He's a master of selective focus, though, and she's learned to (teasingly) threaten his TV privileges while she's instructing him. 

If not for Zelda's influence, Giles would likely have slipped into a depression and simply let himself be slowly crushed into oblivion by his enforced silence… as it is, she's not only given him someone he can talk with, but kept him honest about taking care of himself and encouraged him to try putting his talents to use in ad or illustration work. The money coming from Occam actually makes the search one he can do for interest, rather than the desperation of before, and he enjoys showing Zelda his efforts. The greens in his color palettes tend more toward blue, and his compositions often seem to float, just a bit. It's not something he does on purpose, necessarily, but neither does he apologize for it.

At home, Zelda reaches a détente with her husband. Whatever he thinks of her involvement in Elisa's actions, the visit by Occam's agent convinces him that he's out of his depth. He says nothing about her visits with Giles… to be honest, he doesn't know what he'd say even if he wanted to. The fact that she still has a job tells him that, whatever happened to her friend, _she's_ not in trouble, at least, and he's got no desire to rock the boat if she's still coming home. Zelda, for her part, accepts the situation at face value, and if she and her husband have even less to say to each other than before, at least it's a relatively peaceful silence. She begins wearing an old locket that had belonged to her mother, and Brewster never sees the shimmering oblong scale tucked inside.

-

The days get colder, and shorter. November brings a horrible, sudden darkness – the dream of Camelot ends with a bullet on a national broadcast, leaving Zelda's and Giles' worlds adrift in the nation's sea of confused mourning. The only blessing to be found is that they can finally give way to tears without rousing too much suspicion, and they both take full advantage when their faith tries to wither under winter's cruelty.

Life marches on, and gradually the pain dulls under the routine of work and trying to stay warm in the ever-seeping cold. Imagining new destinations for their friends restores flickering hope, and they nurture it near-daily as they sit with whatever warm drinks they have to hand while Giles' cats wander between them.

The Christmas season is a conflicted affair; both of them miss Elisa in their holiday preparations, which already falter as the rest of the country seeks a path between grief and cheer. Zelda declines invitations to get-togethers, opting to spend more time with Giles instead. They piece together small celebratory moments at odd intervals; Zelda buys a tiny aluminum Christmas tree with the gaudiest ornaments she can find to go with it, just to watch Giles sputter in indignant amusement over it. Giles braves his kitchen and bakes a huge – and miraculously delicious – batch of cookies that he, Zelda, and Mr. Arzoumanian take the better part of two weeks to finish.

Brewster surprises Zelda – the week before Christmas, she comes home to the scent of pine and a small tree in their living room. It's decorated with ordinary dime-store garland and ornaments – not anything of their own – but there's a small wrapped box below it with her name on the tag. The wrapping is clumsy enough that she knows Brewster did it himself. He's not home, so Zelda makes herself some coffee and sits in the kitchen, considering what she sees. It doesn't escape her that he didn't use any of their ornaments, or that the ones he chose are devoid of all but the most generic sentiment. They've effectively been roommates these past several weeks, rather than husband and wife, and Brewster's gesture feels like an acknowledgement of that. She sighs, surprised at how faint the sadness is at what their marriage has become – maybe she's just seen too many things in too short a time, she doesn't know. Regardless, she finishes her coffee, turns off the stove and goes out again, choosing a pair of nice shirts as her own gesture. They're a good match for the earrings and brooch he bought for her; nice, but still a bit distant. Zelda can live with it.

-

"'Morning, Giles…" Zelda sets her coat down on one of the dining room chairs. "Do you think they've reached Belize by now, or d'you suppose they're bidin' their time in Cancun?"

They've turned the corner into the New Year ( _Joys are the shadows cast by sorrows_ , said the last page of Elisa's calendar), and Zelda can already feel the days becoming longer again. It's nice to see the barest beginnings of sunlight when she leaves work, instead of arriving and leaving in total darkness. Giles has found a steady stream of small jobs that are giving him a good reputation in the select niche his talents serve, and his work space is often graced with images of elegantly-tailored suits, or spinning dancers, or extravagant bouquets of exotic flowers. He's begun looking into book covers and illustration, and it's no surprise how he's gravitated to the more fantastical stories.

Today, though, he's unusually quiet, and Zelda looks over to where he's sitting on the couch. The television is on, but Giles isn't paying attention to whatever Barney Fife has just said to Sherriff Andy that's so funny. He turns at her approach, and stands up to hand her what he was looking at.

"I don't think they're in Cancun." He looks a bit stunned, and she takes a good look at the card in her hand.

It's a photo postcard, in pretty bad shape from its journey, but clearly addressed to Giles in simple block letters. On the front there are families on a beach, and "Playa 'Miramar', Tampico" identifies the location. There's nothing written anywhere; just a few smudges and a large fold running diagonally through a third of it. 

"I looked it up – that _is_ in Mexico, but a lot closer to Texas. The writing looks a _bit_ like Elisa's, but…"

Zelda squints hard at the letters, understanding. This could be random, some kind of strange mistake. But the "E"s look familiar, as does the swoop of the "S" in Giles' name.

"Did you notice the holes in it?" Giles points a bit shakily. "Hold it in your other hand and look."

She does, and finally sees the small dents and punctures in the paper, a little over an inch away from where her own fingertips and thumb lie on the card. _Where claws would land_ , comes the jolting thought. She almost drops it with the thought that _his_ hand was there, once.

"…They're—" Her hand comes up to stop the words; she's terrified of being wrong.

Giles meets her wide-eyed stare with his own, nodding and shrugging helplessly. "I can't say it, either." His eyes slip down to the postcard again and a sudden laugh bubbles up that he immediately stifles like a guilty child. _Alive_ , his mind sings anyway, and he can see the same struggle echoed in Zelda's gaze.

"Ain't no way to be sure," she cautions. She looks down again at the card, running her fingers along the indentations in it. "Ain't no way we can answer, neither."

"No. But I'm sure she knew that." Giles reaches out to touch the dog-eared paper, very softly. 

-

They live, and remember. They put away the money Occam uses to leash them, knowing it for the hazard it is and only using what is absolutely necessary, as anyone responsible would use a weapon. They let themselves be bolstered by Mr. Arzoumanian's enthusiasm when the world feels too heavy (" _Is wonderful! They say they do well,_ " he declared of the postcard), and eventually find themselves in an age where fewer things are impossible and certain dreams are drifting within reach.

The cinema remains, like a lighthouse the public suddenly looks to - guiding them past lost princes and the shadowy threat of war. Giles stays at his post there, and Zelda continues her visits, their experiences rendering both of them a part of and apart from this new world.

And then, one day, they are gone. The alarm, once it's finally raised, spreads slowly among people who were never there when the original reason for their watch transpired. Their assignment is an old one, made less and less urgent in the midst of covered-up failures and newer, more immediate threats. Gradually they discover emptied accounts, missing pets and belongings, and some of them learn fragments of a fantastical story that seems pulled straight from the most lurid tales of monsters and mad science. They question a spouse at one location, and find only a resigned ignorance; another location – an old cinema house – yields only an elderly, heavily-accented landlord who tells them extensive yet mundane stories of the eccentric artist who used to live upstairs. They think nothing of the old, dog-eared atlas lying among the countless books they find there, and the presence or absence of one art folio among so many others is completely undetectable. The file joins uncounted others in the Unsolved Cases division, and eventually fades from memory.

They never see the two large, iridescent scales kept with an old photograph of the landlord's grandmother, or the two postcards from faraway countries addressed to the missing artist, one of them printed with a phrase in English where English is rare:

_Wish you were here._

 

\- finis -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Joys are the shadows cast by sorrows"_ – fortune cookie bastardization of Henry Ward Beecher: _"In this world, full often, our joys are only the tender shadows which our sorrows cast."_


	8. Afterword: Author's Notes and Headcanons

This was one of the most cathartic things I've ever written, and one of the _longest_ , too, when I look back at my other stuff. It had an impact on me that few fandoms/characters do; I frequently felt more like I was taking dictation (while frantically wishing the characters would _slow down_ holy cow...) rather than composing anything. 

Anyway, here are some random things from my head that aren't listed in the other chapter notes:

\- To my mind Elisa is, and always has been, other-than-human. I take this from learning that Sally Hawkins was in the midst of writing a story about a woman who learns she is a mermaid when Guillermo del Toro's agent informed hers that he was writing _The Shape of Water_ with her specifically in mind, and the fact that he incorporated some of her conceived details into the film.

\- Although the script and the novel have Colonel Strickland calling in reinforcements for Occam, which is why we see the police cars at the dock, that detail is _not_ in the film. The police cars just appear, and Zelda appears with them. For my purposes, _Zelda_ is the one to have made a phone call to Occam, and my reasoning is:

1\. She knows Strickland is completely, murderously insane, on the loose, and Occam is the only force that _might_ be able to deal with him.

2\. Even though it's effectively calling in the enemy, she's gambling that Elisa can free the creature in time, and Zelda then rushes to the docks to try helping however she can.

\- General Hoyt really meant what he said; he wants all of this to go away. The project surrounding "The Asset" was unusual – and morally absent – enough (think X-Files, Roswell, Mission Impossible) that its failure will shine all sorts of catastrophic attention on him, on his decisions, and on his choice of people for the job. The nature of the project is such that I assume _very_ few above the general - maybe only one - even have any inkling that any of this ever existed – it was likely someone's pet project that had potential for brilliant success, but had to remain obscure enough to just _go away_ if anything went wrong.

\- I couldn't save Dmitri in this story, and it hurts. I still want to fix that [ _Edit: And I have! :D_ ], but it's going to kick off too much of an AU for me to try folding all of this into it as well.

\- I did originally try to figure out how fast our favorite couple would be moving, though I ended up not needing specifics and gave them a much more leisurely pace than I think they could have had. For anyone interested, I based the estimate ( _very_ roughly!) off the speeds that seals and sea lions swim, which is anywhere from 6-11 miles per hour ([source](https://dolphins.org/sea_lion_info)). For comparison, Google said that Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps could reach a top speed of 6mph, although his swimming style would be a lot different from someone with built-in fins (who is also a god, albeit a somewhat weakened one after all he's been through). I also tried to make allowances for A) Elisa's physical limits and B) my assumption that they're not necessarily swimming in a straight line at top speed with no breaks – they're still learning about each other as they're going, after all!

\- [Blooper Reel] There are some details I forgot from the movie that caught me later, although the novel saved me a bit from total embarrassment. :*) One is the calendar page with Elisa's note about the docks; in the movie, Strickland actually tears it off, so Giles wouldn't have been able to. I cursed a _lot_ when I saw that again, but thankfully he doesn't do that in the novel. Another is that Zelda thinks she's never seen Elisa use an umbrella, but she absolutely has one at the dock in the movie.  >_< (I choose to believe that in all their years working together, Zelda simply never saw Elisa carrying an umbrella because it would have been cumbersome for Elisa to carry on the bus. ;-P) They're tiny details, when all is said and done, but those are the ones that keep me up at night…

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> After seeing the film twice and devouring everything I've been able to get my hands on since, I had to write something for Zelda and Giles - this is the first time in ages anything has inspired me to write again.  
> This is mostly film/script-verse, with some use of the novel for reinforcement or clarification in my head.  
> If you're here, I hope you enjoy the ride, however brief* it may be. :)
> 
> [*Edited to add: Holy cow, I wrote that at Chapter 1 and had no flipping clue I'd still be here after over 10,000 words! I guess I'm here for as long as the characters have something to say :) ]


End file.
